Should Have Known Better
by bjxmas
Summary: 1.14 Nightmare tag. Nov 2, 1987 John was a broken man. He should have known better. He should have known not to hope, not to dream, not to believe. The liquor had control over him as he lashed out at the one obstacle to his chance at oblivion. Wee!chester
1. Despair

Should Have Known Better

Part One - November 2, 1987

John should have known better. He should have known not to get his hopes up, but he had waited so long to get that evil son of a bitch that destroyed his life by killing the one person who had given him life, given him hope and he couldn't help himself.

He finally had a lead on the thing that killed Mary. He finally saw an end to his family's torment and he had allowed himself to believe. To believe it would all be over and he could raise his boys and allow them a normal life. Dean could once again play baseball and Sammy could know what a real home was. He should have known better than to believe.

He had taken off on his last hunt. He would kill the evil bastard and he would get his life back. It would never be the life he was supposed to have, his life with Mary; but it would be a life where his boys could once again be children. He should have known better than to dream of another way of life.

He had left Dean in charge of Sammy for the last time. When he got back it would all be over. The demon would be dead and Dean could just be a big brother again: not a protector, not a warrior, not a young man robbed of his childhood.

He was close, he was just a step behind, he was so close to it all being over he could see it, he could feel it, he could taste it. He could see an end to his quest and a release from his torment but then all hell broke loose. He had waged war against evil and lost. It had defeated him one more time, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally: totally.

He was a broken man. He should have known better. _He should have known not to hope, not to dream, not to believe._ The pain of this crushing defeat was burying him under a massive weight of despair and regret. He had not felt this low since that terrible night when he lost the light in his life, when he lost his beloved Mary.

He stopped at the liquor store on his way back to the fleabag motel he had deposited his young sons at the day before. He needed to fortify his nerves. Hell, who was he kidding? He needed to drown his sorrows, he needed to disappear. He needed to bury this pain deep enough that it wasn't staring at him every time he looked in a mirror, reminding him of everything he had lost and would never have again.

Dean smiled broadly at him when he unlocked the motel door and entered the dank, cramped motel room.

"Daddy, did you get it?" Dean was so exuberant it only made the failure John felt more pronounced.

"No, Dean." John saw the wind knocked out of his son's sails. The disappointment on his face mirrored John's. Just what he needed, _another reminder of his failure._

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Twenty-four hours later, John had finally accomplished something. He was no longer feeling the pain, the disappointment, and the anger at failing in his quest. He was feeling nothing but the dull numbness from drowning his sorrows in a bottle of tequila. It felt good to feel nothing. He had felt so much pain and disappointment and he just couldn't do it anymore. He just couldn't live with it any longer.

If he hadn't had his young sons he would have descended into hell and ended his suffering long ago. He would have rejoined his Mary and finally found the peace that eluded him. The only reason for him existing on this earth was his vengeance and his sons. He had failed in his vengeance and he had failed his sons. He had seen the light go out of Dean's eyes when he realized his dad was not the vanquishing hero he thought he was.

If he couldn't die then at least he could kill his feelings, his feelings of despair. He reached for another bottle. Damn, why was he still thinking? Why was he still feeling? He must not be drinking enough.

"Daddy, Sammy wants you to hold him. Can you tell him a story?" Dean softly asked.

"Not now Dean. Leave me alone." John pushed his son away. He couldn't deal with him now. He couldn't deal with his expectations. Dean wanted a dad and a hero and he was neither at this moment in time. The last thing he needed was to see that reflected in his son's eyes.

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John didn't know how many hours had passed which to his mind was a good thing. He was finally succeeding in disappearing off the face of the planet. His drunken stupor was the only comfort he had found in a long time. He sank into his numbness and found relief from all his worries and cares. He finally didn't have to think anymore. He was finally free.

"Daddy are you OK? Daddy I love you." Sammy jumped on the bed next to his dad and shook him.

John reacted as a hunter, not knowing precisely what the danger was; just knowing something foreign had invaded his space. He grabbed the offender and threw him off the bed. Sammy landed with a loud thump on the floor and started crying. Dean rushed to his side, picked him up and wrapped his arms around him.

"Sammy, it's OK. You're OK. Let me see, yeah you're fine."

"Dean, what's wrong with daddy?" Sam asked through tear streaked eyes.

"Daddy's sick. You've gotta leave him alone 'til he gets better. Can you do that? Can you just watch TV and be quiet 'til Daddy feels better?" Dean pleaded. He had his hands full already; he didn't need Sammy incessantly asking more questions he couldn't answer without lying further.

"Should we make him some chicken soup? Will that make him better?" Sammy's innocence asked.

"Maybe later, when he wakes up." Big brother replied.

So Dean waited for Dad to wake up. He kept his little brother quiet, he fed him Lucky Charms for dinner and told him stories of how it used to be, back when Mommy and Daddy would laugh and take them on picnics in the park and the one time they had a picnic on the floor in their big living room.

It was raining and Dad came home early from work and they spread a quilt on the floor and laid out a feast. Dad pointed out imaginary birds that were flying overhead and Mom shrieked when the imaginary ants tried to invade their food. How they had all laughed and hugged each other and how Sammy as the baby just sat and watched and giggled at their antics.

Dean's eyes misted over as he remembered those happy times. Sammy didn't remember. Sammy didn't know there could be a life other than the one he now lived, but Dean remembered. He knew other kids still lived happy lives, still got to go on picnics. He vowed that someday, someway he would take Sammy on another picnic. The kid deserved at least one picnic he could remember, didn't he?

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John stirred and reached for his bottle. He felt around and couldn't find it. Where in the hell did it go? He needed it, his feelings and thoughts were creeping back into his consciousness. He needed to drive them away for just a tad longer.

"Dean, where the hell is my bottle?" He yelled at his older son.

"It's gone. You drank it all." Dean quietly replied.

John's mind was not functioning fully but he knew that couldn't be true. He had practically bought out the liquor store. He had bought enough booze to keep him stocked for the rest of the month. Where was that bottle?

"Dean, get me a bottle." John was barely able to sit on the edge of the bed without toppling over but he knew what he knew. He knew Dean was lying.

"No."

"What did you say to me?" Anger growing from the frustration and desolation he felt invading his thoughts.

"Dean, get me a bottle now! That's an order." John was not going to stand by and let his son openly defy him.

"No Daddy." Dean appeared next to him and touched his arm. "Please don't drink anymore."

The liquor had control over John as he lashed out at the one obstacle to his chance at oblivion. He struck out and connected his fist with half of the only good thing left in his life. Dean was thrown across the room and into the dresser by the bathroom door. His ribs slammed into the corner of the dresser and he let out a painful gasp as the wind was knocked from his lungs.

John toppled off the bed and landed with a thud, out cold on the motel room floor. He lay there for another six hours before he finally stirred.

TBC


	2. Regrets

Part Two of Three

John slowly came to his senses as the stench of the moldy carpet filled his nostrils with the putrid smell of years of neglect. The room was dark, the only light coming from the small TV that was quietly playing Saturday morning cartoons. He rolled over and made out the form of his youngest mesmerized with the colors and sounds of Bugs Bunny.

He heard the shower water running and then the water stopped and the door to the bathroom opened and he first glimpsed his oldest. The light from the bathroom illuminated the room and he glanced upon the most frightening sight he had seen since he embarked on his battle with evil.

Dean was wiping down the water from his young frame and the mark on his side was unmistakable. A large black and purple bruise right where his rib cage ends and goes into his stomach. A nasty bruise from a violent encounter with an evil being, except he had not been on a hunt.

John was stunned into an upright position. He rubbed his eyes to see if the light was playing tricks on him, please let it just be a shadow. Please let it just be his imagination. Please God, tell him he had not hurt his own son.

Dean walked out of the bathroom wearing only his faded jeans, carrying his t-shirt in his hand. John flicked on the light switch by the bed and lit up the room. Dean was startled his dad was awake and quickly turned to slip his t-shirt over his head to cover the offending bruise.

"Dean, did I do that?" John trembled as he asked, knowing what the answer was yet not bearing to hear the truth.

"Dad it's OK." Was all Dean said, but the tone of his voice was so sad, so disillusioned.

"Dean, come over here."

John was feeling the worst he had ever felt in his life. He remembered the only time he had ever spanked Dean and how bad it made him feel. Dean had disobeyed and taken a sick baby Sammy outside on a cold rainy night to show his friends. It had put Sam in danger and Dean knew he was wrong to do it. Mary said he needed to be punished, he needed to learn to obey and even though John agreed, it still hurt him to inflict pain on his son.

That pain was nothing next to the pain he felt for this. The fact that he could not remember inflicting this injury did nothing to alleviate his guilt. If anything it made his guilt more pronounced. How could he be so negligent as to not even remember doing this to his son? He was his father and he was sworn to protect him. He would kill any man who would think to hurt his son like this. The anger and disgust he felt towards himself only magnified when Dean approached.

Not only had Dean suffered the rib bruise, now in the harsh light of the sleazy motel room John saw the full extent of the other damage. His left eye was half swollen shut from the bruise that surrounded it but the most severe damage was the sullen, silent pain that dwelt in his sad hazel-green eyes. John's heart broke into a million pieces right then and there. He had not seen such anguish since his son realized his mom was gone.

John knew he was the cause of Dean's pain. He was the monster lurking in the shadows stalking his son and causing him harm. The blow to his soul was staggering. He had become the thing Dean feared most. He had become the evil in the darkness.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It will never happen again." John pleaded with his son for forgiveness.

"I know Dad. I know you didn't know what you were doing." Dean spoke so softly John could barely hear him. Dean then looked him straight in the eyes and spoke more distinctly, more forcefully.

"Dad, you will never hurt Sammy like this. Do you hear me? I won't let you."

John silently looked into the tenacious eyes of a soul possessed: a young man possessed of a steel will and iron determination. He had never been more proud of his son. Dean was a protector and he was a warrior. He would protect Sammy against any evil that threatened him. He would even protect him from his own drunk and abusive father.

John prayed this would be the one and only time he had to face his son. He would never let himself fall into this depraved, destructive state again. He needed to regain his son's trust. He wanted to be his son's hero and he would do anything to accomplish that. He would face his demons and he would be brave. His sons needed him to be strong. His sons needed their father.

"Dean, let me see." John drew Dean closer so he could inspect his injuries. John's stomach churned with the bitter regrets at what his careless, drunken actions had created. He tenderly felt the bruise around his young son's eye. It was swollen and black and blue but there seemed to be no permanent physical damage. He then lifted up Dean's t-shirt to inspect the bruise on his abdomen. His fingers trembled as he gently pressed on his ribs checking for breaks. Dean emitted a soft groan as the pressure of John's fingers caused him more pain.

Thank God, they appeared to only be bruised. _Only,_ John shook at the thought. How could he have done this? How could he have hurt his own son? He should have known better. Damn it! He _did_ know better. He vowed he would never be in this position again. He would _never_ lose control like this again.

He lowered Dean's t-shirt and looked into the hurt eyes of his firstborn. He couldn't control his emotions any longer as he pulled his son into his chest to hold him close and hug him for all he was worth. His body heaved as heavy sobs overcame him and tears flowed openly down his cheeks as he considered how much he had lost in that one fateful moment in time. He had lost his son's respect and his son had lost his last remnant of innocence.

"Dad, it's OK. I know you didn't mean it. I know you didn't know what you were doing."

Dean, ever the responsible child trying to protect and preserve his family, was trying to comfort his dad, his abuser. Dean had grown up so quickly over the past four years and this was one more instance where his life just wasn't fair. John was his father, he was the adult and he should have been looking out for his son's well-being instead of the other way around. John knew this was so wrong and he couldn't allow his son to continue to take on the brunt of his dad's failures.

"Dean, it's not OK. I was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong and I promise you it will never happen again. I will be the father you and Sammy deserve. Please forgive me."

John didn't deserve forgiveness and he couldn't believe he had just asked for it. He deserved to be punished unmercifully for subjecting his son to this pain. He knew in his heart his actions were totally unforgivable, yet he also knew his son would forgive him. He knew Dean's heart was incapable of condemning him and he vowed he would live up to his son's expectations. He would never disappoint his son again.

"Daddy I know you miss Mommy. I know you feel lost and alone, but you have us. You have Sammy and me. I can help. We'll get that demon together; you just need to give me a little time. Can you do that Dad? Can you wait for me to get bigger?" Dean was so sincere in his bid to help his dad that John's heart broke all over again.

"Dean, I'm so proud of you. You're the best big brother Sammy could hope for. I was weak but it won't happen again. I _will_ be the father you and Sam deserve. _This will never happen again_." John vowed to his son and the spirit of his dead wife. True to his word, it never did.

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TBC


	3. Memories

Part Three - Conclusion

_Present Day - 2006_

"_Dean, we were lucky we had Dad. A little less demon hunting, a little more tequila and we could have had Max's childhood." Sam quietly observed._

_Dean looked surprised and pleased._

"_I never thought I'd hear you say that." He replied with relief, maybe his younger brother had finally made peace with Dad and how he raised them._

"_Well, all things considered we turned out OK." Sam continued._

"_Yeah, all things considered." Dean agreed as a reflective smile crossed his lips._

Dean remembered that fateful encounter when his dad lost control in his drunken rage and lashed out at the only person who was near. Dean remembered it like it was yesterday. How shocked and hurt he was to think Dad could strike out at his own son with so much anger. How disillusioned he had felt to lose sight of the only person he had to depend on.

He knew his dad wasn't himself, he knew his dad didn't even remember the offense, but it still rocked him to his core. Dad who had always been his knight in shining armor had fallen from his steed. For a brief moment Dean had been left alone without the strong guidance of his hero.

Dean's first thought had been relief that Dad struck him and not Sammy. He didn't think he could have forgiven him if it had been Sammy, but he had found it fairly easy to forgive Dad for striking him. He should have known better. He should have stayed back. He should have given him room. He should have just kept quiet and let him sleep it off. He knew Dad didn't know, didn't mean, didn't want to hurt him.

Still, he had been hurt. The pain of the bruises was bad but not as bad as the turmoil in his heart. With all the anguish he had suffered in his young life he only had two things to hang on to: his dad and Sammy. He needed to believe in his dad and for a short time, he lost that and he was scared. He was adrift with no anchor.

When his dad finished inspecting his bruises and pulled him close into his chest in a warm embrace, Dean had felt good again. As twisted as it may sound, he felt the pain of the bruises was worth it to have his dad's arms wrapped around him in a long overdue embrace. He had gotten lots of hugs from Mom and Dad before that fiery night. He always knew he could count on a hug from each at bedtime and countless times in between.

After Mom died the hugs, the contact, the connection diminished and eventually ceased as Dad became increasingly distant. He didn't blame his dad, he understood he felt bad. Dad just withdrew from everything, including his two young sons. Sammy was still a baby that needed held, so he still got hugs. Dean hated to admit it but he even felt jealous of Sammy once or twice when he so desperately longed for an embrace and Dad instead picked up the baby and held him.

Dean missed the warmth and love those hugs instilled in him. He missed the closeness and the safety of those hugs. He missed the comfort of knowing secure arms held him and protected him from all danger and woe.

So yeah, as twisted as it sounds he would have taken on more bruises if it would have meant his dad would hug him again. Man, he better not _ever _tell Sam this story. He wasn't sure if Sam would understand, if Sam _could_ understand. Sam was just now accepting Dad and the path they were raised on. Dean sure as hell didn't want to muddy up the waters with another confusing tale of their warped upbringing.

No, he knew Sam now needed to believe in Dad just like he did. Dad had faced the devil head on and was still alive to tell the tale, and had somehow managed to raise his sons and keep them alive. Yeah, theirs was definitely an unconventional upbringing but all things considered, they were OK. Hell, they were alive and they were together. Dad must have done something right.

Dad _was_ Dean's hero. He had fallen off his pedestal for a brief moment in time when weakness and despair overcame him but he had clawed his way back up to take his rightful place in his sons' hearts. It was as it should be.

Dean knew what despair felt like and what it could do to a man. He hoped he would never fall from Sam's good grace and disappoint him. He knew first hand how that felt and he didn't want to be on the other side. Dad had given him invaluable insight into how to be a hero and he hoped he was up for the task.

This was a tough road they had embarked on and he just hoped they were all up to the challenge. Dean knew they were human, and humans are frail and humans make mistakes. He just hoped they could stay true to their calling and also be heroes.

The End

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own them, no connection to them and drat no chance of having a connection. Just simply love those Winchester men and all their family angst and turmoil, not to mention their deep and abiding love and devotion.


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